


A Rose By Any Other Name

by DHW



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22019947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DHW/pseuds/DHW
Summary: The problem with names is that they don't always translate.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 30
Kudos: 231
Collections: The Babel Trek Open Project





	A Rose By Any Other Name

**Author's Note:**

> Cheers to Quaggy for the quick once-over.

The problem, as Garak saw it, was two-fold. 

The first, and by all accounts, the most complicated of issues was the prohibition of translation technology within Cardassia Prime’s parliamentary system. His species being of a deeply suspicious variety, and of the opinion that a back without a knife in it was a rare sight indeed, the law dictated that all talks were to be held in the common tongue—the common Cardassian tongue, that was—to ensure no room for machine translated errors. 

Kardassi was a language of wordplay and metaphor. To say exactly what one meant was the height of rudeness. The direct approach was one taken only by the feeble-minded; or by the military, which in Garak’s considered opinion, amounted to much the same thing. The rest of the population spoke in circles, as was only proper, taking ten words to accomplish what two would do in any other language. Minding their ‘p’s and their ‘q’s, crossing their ‘t’s, dotting their ‘i’s, and clearly enunciating the squiggly bits that ran beneath each noun as though their lives depended on it. 

Which, in the bad old days, they had. 

Things were different now, of course. Cardassia was less of a police state these days, and more of a _state_ in general. Like a teenager’s bedroom. Or one’s demeanour after a nasty shock. Both of which, he was saddened to note, were quite accurate metaphors indeed. 

Still, though Cardassia was beginning to rise from the rubble (quite literally) once more, progress was slow. The making and breaking of the law even moreso, especially when there were so many wolves ready to come knocking upon the Union’s crumbling doors. It was why they sought to parlay with the Federation, after all; who better to ask for protection than biggest, if most ostensibly not baddest entity in the alpha quadrant? 

Well, quite. It was the first sensible thing Cardassia’s new government had done. Though it was swiftly followed by perhaps its least sensible of doings:

No translation technology in Parliament.

It was deemed too risky. Computer-based translators, such as those used by the Federation, tended to take too literal an interpretation of what was said. A dangerous business with both Kardassi and politics involved. The slip of a tongue, the mixing of a metaphor, and it would be phasers and army rations by tea time. 

Garak thought the move a touch overcautious. Humans, at least, were no stranger to wordplay. If there was one thing he had picked up from the interminable ramblings of Shakespeare, it was that humans loved to play with language almost as much as Cardassians. They could use it to great effect, too. Confuse as easily as they could clarify. Lie using only the truth. 

And after all, what was politics if not one large, elaborate lie? 

“Idiots,” Garak muttered to himself as he slipped out from beneath the bedcovers, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

Yes, the lack of translation technology in the upcoming talks was a problem, true, but not an insurmountable one. Not like the second. 

No, the second involved the delightful Dr Bashir. Or, more accurately, the delightful Dr _Julian_ Bashir. 

It was incredibly unfortunate that the Federation’s chosen ambassador came with a name like Julian. 

A fine name. A noble name, or so the good Doctor had told him. Derived from Julius, he of the stabbed back (beautifully Cardassian, he had to admit), and the surprised ‘et tu’ (less beautiful, more idiotic). It was a relatively common name amongst humans. 

Julian. 

Or, in Kardassi: _Ju-lee’an._

There was a good reason Garak had never taken to using his dear Doctor’s given name. It was not a good name. Or a noble one. In fact, not even one an upstanding citizen could utter in public, let alone in Parliament. 

_Ju-lee’an_ , indeed.

He’d looked up the Federation equivalent once, out of curiosity—it hadn’t been long after they had met—and proceeded to laugh himself to the point of nausea. It had seemed fitting at the time. A case of nominative determinism for the young, naive Doctor. 

Oh, how wrong he had been!

Still, enhanced brain or otherwise, the name would do him no favours. First impressions were everything in Cardassian society. And the name he bore hardly made a good one.

“Might I introduce Dr Julian Bashir,” he grumbled to himself in Kardassi. “Yes. You heard correctly. Dr Julian. Not Ju-lee’an, no.” 

It simply wouldn’t do. 

He sat upon the edge of the bed and contemplated the future. Specifically the future of two hours hence, where he would have to stand up in front of Cardassia’s new Castellan and introduce the Federation’s chosen ambassador to his people by a name not even the cruelest of parents would give their child. 

He patted the duvet-covered rump of said ambassador in consolation as he thought. Perhaps the worst of it could be avoided by simply using an initial. Dr J Bashir. Or no first name at all, like Van Gogh, or Picasso, or one of the characters in those awful public-schoolboy novels the Doctor had foisted upon him last year. 

Maybe that would work. 

But probably not. 

Trust him to fall in love with a man whose name meant ‘fuckwit’. 

He groaned, and fell back against the covers. Against _Julian_ , who muttered something else that could not be repeated in polite company. Which was rather fitting, really.


End file.
